


no assignment for cowards

by visiblemarket



Series: Tumblr Prompts [11]
Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: John being John, M/M, Morning After, Sleepy Cuddles, Smoking, as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: John runs his fingers through Chas's hair —  silky smooth, cool against his skin — and wonders if it will rouse him. Isn't sure if he wants it to. Chas gives a perhaps-pleased rumble, but buries his face further into the pillow, and then goes still. John decides, for once, to leave him be.





	no assignment for cowards

Chas is a sound sleeper.

 John’s not sure why he’s surprised at it — Chas’s simple like that, probably manages to avoid the perpetual swirl of nightmares, paranoia, and addiction that’s kept John from getting a proper night’s sleep in years. And, point of fact: John's upright and smoking, sore and exhausted, while Chas is still asleep, back rising and falling with soft, shallow breaths. 

Sprawled on his stomach, one arm curled beneath his pillow, the other spread out, as if reaching for something. Hair mussed in the back, but still soft and shining. Face turned to the side, cheek pressed to the pillow.  

John runs his fingers through Chas's hair —  silky smooth, cool against his skin — and wonders if it will rouse him. Isn't sure if he wants it to. Chas gives a perhaps-pleased rumble, but buries his face further into the pillow, and then goes still. John decides, for once, to leave him be.

Takes another drag, slow and steady.

Exhales.

Inhales.

Turns.

Wonders, at the ashtray on the bedside table — Chas doesn’t smoke, hasn’t for a long time, never would've in bed anyway — but makes use of it all the same.

Turns back.

Smokes the cigarette down the filter. Reaches over again, and stubs it out. Lights another, quick and thoughtless, then snaps the lighter closed. And then:

“John?” says Chas, low and sleep-logged. 

John exhales. “Yeah?"   

 “What’re you doing?"

_What's it look like?_ , he should say — easy, sharp, the proper bastard answer.

Chas wouldn't mind. _Stupid question_ , he'd groan, or something like that, and laugh: that charmingly rueful, slightly self-deprecating laugh of his, the one he gives when he’s in a good mood and fonder of John than annoyed by him.

John keeps his mouth shut. Couldn’t say why, really. Just shrugs instead, and hopes for the best.

Chas’s eyes crinkle, and his mouth twitches. He rolls over onto his back — the bed shifts, and John with it: tips closer to the solid, suffusing warmth of Chas’s body.

 “What time’s it?” Chas says, rubbing at his eyes.

“Dunno.” It’s a quarter past five. Too early for John to be up; too early for anyone to be up. He reaches back, sets down the cigarette and the lighter. Eases himself back into bed, and lets out a sigh.

Chas turns toward him. “You okay?” he says, reaching out, dragging John closer with a rough hand round his hip. "You cold?” 

John’s not, or at least, he won’t be for long: Chas’s rubbing his back like he has a thousand times before, stroking casually along John’s spine. Familiar, chaste, except for the fact they’re both naked and John’s entire body aches from the night before. 

Chas’s eyes have almost drifted shut again, and his gaze seems to be focused on John’s chest. He’s close enough to touch, and the smell of him — sweat, sex, that tree-scented soap he uses — flows over John, makes his breath quicken.  

 Chas looks up. “Hey,” he says, a low, fond, grumbling sort of sound.  

“Yeah?” John offers, finds himself angling closer to Chas, soaking in his body heat. 

“What’re you—were you…” he stifles a yawn, presses his forehead against John’s. “Going somewhere?” Sounds curious more than anything — no disappointment in his eyes, no recrimination in his tone, not even any surprise — and John frowns.  

_Where would I go_? He doesn’t say, though he could. That’s the truth of it, after all: now they’ve fucked, now that final impenetrable — hah — line between them has been breached, where _could_  he go? Out into the dark winter woods about them, never to return? Back to his room, never to emerge? 

The idea has its appeal, admittedly. Chas is half asleep already, eyes hazy and soft — another five minutes and he’ll be out like a light, and won’t feel John leave. 

But — it’s cold, and Chas is warm, and leaving won’t make a difference  — won’t change the fact that Chas truly does know him inside and out, now. That John'd fallen asleep in his arms, and woken up the same way. He hadn't wanted to leave then either, and that's the worst of it.    

 John hazards a smile.  “Was gonna make you breakfast, ’s a matter of fact.”  

Chas chuckles, amused but unconvinced. “Oh yeah?"

“Yeah. A proper English, even. Eggs, sausage, bacon — none’ve that oatmeal and wheat toast nonsense—"

“It’s good for you."

John huffs. Tips his head. “Know what else is good for me?"

“I can—“ Chas starts, before John surges forward.

Impulsive, a little desperate, and met with surprised stillness, at first. But Chas kisses him back, eventually, wrapping his arm around John’s waist, pulling John's body tight up against his own. John inhales, quick, and hooks his elbow around the back of Chas’s neck, pulling himself closer still. Chas smiles against his mouth before he pulls back.  

“Breakfast, huh?” Chas says, nuzzling his nose against John’s. 

“If you’d like,” John says, knowing what the answer will be.

“I would not."

John laughs, a quick, smug chuckle which is almost immediately swallowed by another kiss. 

John grins, ruffling his fingers through Chas’s soft, thick hair as he sucks on Chas’s tongue; Chas drops a hand to John’s hip again, and wastes no time in letting it slide down further.  

John pulls his head back, just barely enough to speak. “Wanna go again, mate?” he purrs. 

Chas smiles, and pulls John in. “Go?” he murmurs, all mild, oblivious innocence. “Go where?” Coyness shouldn’t suit him — it _doesn’t_ suit him, not in the least, he's too solid and earnest and steady for it — and yet John groans, dragging himself even tighter against Chas’s chest.

 “Bastard,” John says, and lets himself be kissed again.

 

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> For [@blue-roses-for-castiel](https://blue-roses-for-castiel.tumblr.com/), whose prompt I didn't hit all the points for, but who'll hopefully enjoy it anyway!


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